


A Sign for Tomorrow

by ConstantlyTiredReader



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Comfort, Confessions, Cute, Domestic Fluff, First Dates, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Language, Sign Language, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Sweet, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-06-03 19:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19471024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyTiredReader/pseuds/ConstantlyTiredReader
Summary: Ever since Stretch has arrived in this universe, a common, irritating theme is how different everything from Underswap. Some differences are obvious, but most are more subtle. As for Hands... well, that is one of the vastly different things, as he soon discovered.Long story short, Stretch figured that he should probably ask Edge to teach him, as distracting as that may be.





	1. Chapter 1

“how’s this?”

“It depends. Are you trying to tell me that you forgot deodorant this morning or that you forgot to tango? Because, regardless of the answer, that raises some questions.”

Stretch groans in dismay, crossing his arms on the table and hiding his face inside. “neither. i thought i was saying that i remembered to shower this morning.” And he did, right before he came over to Edge’s place. He even earned Blue’s cleanliness seal of approval, and stars above, is that ever hard to get.

“I see,” Edge responds grimly, which only makes him want to make like an old party balloon and deflate some more. He gets it; he sucks at this. No need to rub it in, thanks. “If that’s the case, _this_ is what you’re going for.” 

The scarred skeleton demonstrates, nice and slowly for Stretch’s benefit. Not that it helps, however. Edge makes speaking in Hands look effortless, almost like some kind of dance. Each sign is controlled, although that is to be expected from him. Yet, there is always a grace, a fluidity present in the motions. Stretch stares openly, even if he can’t focus on the actually signs themselves.

Edge coughs, forcing Stretch’s attention back to the lesson at hand (heh, _hand_ ). “It was an honest mistake, really. You were being a bit literal in your signs again, but I believe that’s just how you are used to it working in your home universe. As for mixing up ‘remember’ and ‘forget,’” he continues, signing each word emphatically as he speaks, “the important thing is to remember in which direction your hand moves away from your skull, which is simply a matter of practice.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. that’s why i’m here, edgelord.” 

And why he has been at the Underfell brothers' house for an hour almost every day for the past month, almost a month and a half.

Ever since he has arrived in this universe, a common, irritating theme is how different everything from Underswap. Some differences are obvious, like how Undyne was never the Royal Scientist here but instead ran the Guard. Asgore is the one in charge, rather than Toriel. The layout of the Underground is flipped, making it feel like he is walking (fine, _shortcutting_ ) backwards everywhere. 

Most differences, however, are more subtle. These days, the only reaction Stretch makes is a slight double take, which is much preferred to the months of adjustment it has taken for other stuff.

As for Hands… well, that is one of the vastly different things, as he soon discovered.

Stretch found out during one of the last movie nights at this ‘verse’s Sans and Papyrus’ place. Him, Sans and Red had made a pact that morning at Grillby's in order to help diminish the chances of their brothers griping at them for ‘ruining a nice evening of multiversal bonding’. As long as nobody stood directly in front of the television or otherwise obstructed anyone's view — mostly an issue for whoever sits by Blue — everything should have worked out fine. The three of them could continue to run commentary throughout the entire movie, no problem whatsoever.

And that was exactly the case. For the shorter pair of lazybones, that is. Those two settled deep into the couch, flying hands only to be interrupted by laughter and the chucking of popcorn at each other, much to Papyrus’ dismay. Sure, Stretch laughed with them, but it didn’t take long for him to figure out that he couldn’t truly go along with their jokes. The signs, illuminated by the light of the tv screen, were completely meaningless to him, save for the odd recognisable one, because clearly the universe enjoys practical jokes just as much as Sans — if not more. So, Stretch just stuffed his own hands in his pockets, following along obliviously. When asked why he didn’t contribute anything to the conversation, Stretch gave a classic response: a nonchalant shrug with a claim that he was feeling tired.

A few similar experiences later led him to a solid conclusion. Apparently, Hands is practically identical in Undertale and Underfell, besides levels of aggression and creative profanity, if Red is any indicator. Of course, that could just as easily be Red being Red. But, as is too often the case these days, Underswap seems to be the odd one out. Besides having vastly different signs for... well, pretty much everything, even the syntax seems to be flipped around. Joy.

Long story short, Stretch had figured that he should probably learn how to speak the other ‘verses’ form of Hands. That was the easy part. Harder, though, was determining who he should ask to teach him.

Papyrus, the cheery, energetic one lucky enough to keep his name, was out of the question. Yeah, he may be a nice guy, and he would probably be extremely thorough, but Stretch just can’t. Dealing with all that energy and enthusiasm on a regular basis to learn simply can’t happen. It would be exhausting.

As for Sans or Red… well, Stretch knows himself. More specifically, he knows his own sense of humour pretty damn well. That sense of humour is one thing quite obviously shared with those two. He would have to be an idiot to blindly trust any lessons they would give him. The last thing he needs is to give Papyrus an aneurysm over dinner one night because he unintentionally said something ridiculously obscene when all he wanted was for someone to pass the damn salt.

That left Edge.

Edge, his counterpart who looks eternally pissed off at the world for daring to displease him. Who is all sharp edges and even sharper words. Who has LV and isn’t afraid to put his fighting prowess to good use. Who occasionally reminisces on the dusty horrors of his world, only to clam up and snap that it was home when anyone inevitably becomes appalled.

Edge, his counterpart who simply gave a curt nod and asked what times would work best for him when Stretch first asked about the lessons. Edge, who checks in on everyone in his own gruff way, making sure nobody is going to die of sheer stupidity or neglect any time soon. Edge, who apparently hoards pictures of kittens in the misleadingly named ‘work receipt scans’ folder on his laptop. Who manages to look illegally attractive whether he is wearing his bad boy leathers that cling tightly to his bones or soft jeans and an apron as he bakes.

Who is _ridiculously_ distracting right now, even as he is kind enough to help Stretch out. 

Placing the list of today’s vocabulary to the side, Edge stands to his feet. “Yes, well, I believe it’s about time for us to take a break.” Blazing red eye lights skim over Stretch critically. “You look like you need one.”

“gee, thanks,” he says dryly. “rude much.” Is Edge right? Yeah, absolutely. Doesn’t mean he feels like being called out on it, though. 

“You’re welcome,” he responds, generously ignoring Stretch’s snark. Already halfway to the kitchen, he asks, “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

Oh, if only Edge knew how true that last question is. “a drink would be nice, i guess.”

“Of course. Any requests?” Stretch is cut off before he can utter a single sound. “And honey does _not_ count as a beverage.” 

“do you have any tea?”

Edge sighs. “Yes. But you’re not pouring all of my honey into it. I have plans for it, and I don’t want to go shopping yet.”

“yeah, yeah.” A month ago, Stretch would take this chance to snipe back at the other skeleton. Now, he just watches as Edge strolls away, hips gently swaying under the jeans and deep red pullover which so nicely complements the colour of his magic.

It’s official: Stretch is screwed.

Despite the fact that he didn’t say he was hungry, Edge returns with a tray overflowing with little snack items, ranging from sweet to savoury. Wordlessly, he places the tray on the coffee table, handing Stretch a small plate before returning with the tea.

“I have taken the liberty to add honey to yours."

"thanks," he mumbles, drawing up the large mug, readying himself for an unsatisfyingly unsweet beverage. The moment the steaming hot beverage hits his mouth, he jumps back, nearly dumping it over himself and the entire couch in shock. “holy hell, edge! i thought you had plans for your honey!”

The corners of his mouth twitch up ever so slightly. “I did.” Perhaps Stretch had imagined the twitch, because it has just as quickly been replaced with Edge’s normal stoic, almost scowling expression.

“ _and???_ ”

“I think my plans were a success,” Edge responds cryptically. “What do you think?”

What kind of question is —

Oh.

_Oh!_

“i, uh… it’s a success, i think.” For good measure, Stretch takes another drink, savouring the rich sweetness that is enough to give even him a sugar high. “good job.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Edge sips his own tea, albeit more politely. “How’s your brother these days? Last I heard, he mentioned a new taco recipe?”

Stretch sets down his mug, shuddering. “fish tacos, yeah. let’s just say those are still a work in progress.” 

“Oh? Why is that?”

“i think he used the wrong kind of fish or something. i dunno. all i know is that i have enough bones without eating them.” Edge snorts quietly, selecting a cookie from the tray. Stretch snatches one (or two) for himself, asking, “and red? i haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s a menace.”

“so nothing new.”

“No,” Edge fondly remarks, “not at all.” He hands Stretch a napkin, his expression hinting at the fact that he should use it, please and thank you. Rolling his eye lights, Stretch obliges him. 

The next few minutes are spent in quiet conversation as they continue eating. Well, actually, Edge is the one doing most of the eating. Before coming over, Stretch had raided the fridge of leftovers, not anticipating free snacks. Edge, on the other hand, probably hasn’t eaten since breakfast — which, if Blue and Papyrus are any basis for comparison, was eaten right at the crack of dawn — and it’s already past noon.

The longer he waits, the more fidgety Stretch starts to feel. He needs _something_ to do with his hands. The poor, used napkin has already fallen victim to his nervous energy, shredded to pieces before he reluctantly set it down on the table.

It doesn’t help that Edge keeps looking at him. Sure, maintaining eye contact is typically a normal thing to do when conversing, but Stretch can barely concentrate if all he can think about is how much he just wants to ask out this stupidly hot skeleton with the warm, piercing eye lights.

Weirdly, Edge’s face colours, a pale red burning on those sharp cheekbones. Voice stiff and empty, he says, “That isn’t funny, Stretch.”

“huh?” What is he talking about? Normally, that sentence would be saved for when Stretch makes a particularly bad joke, and he is _pretty_ sure that didn’t happen. Even if it did, that wouldn’t explain Edge’s tone.

“You — you said…” But Edge raises his hands, indicating that whatever he said wasn’t so much verbal as it was signed.

Oh shit.

Ever since they were kids, Blue has teased him for signing his thoughts ‘out loud’. Usually, it is just a jumbled, incoherent mess; even though he was always fast at speaking in Hands, Stretch’s thoughts are even faster, and he can’t keep up with their bizarre twists and turns.

“what did i say?” Stretch prompts, clenching his fists inside his hoodie.

Quiet enough that a pin could drop all the way upstairs and still be heard, Edge tells him, “You asked me out.”

Damn it! 

His traitorous hands aren’t the problem here. Actually, scratch that; they totally are! That isn't the important part, though. He didn’t want Edge to know. Not yet. Not until Stretch could at least try and get his shit together.

Edge deserves better than someone signing word garbage at him to ask for a date. Sure, the guy is from Underfell, aka murder world, but he has standards! That was obvious from their first meeting. Armour, other than the odd, recent dent, spotless and gleaming. Standing tall, his presence demanded respect. As he started to get to know the other skeleton, his principles became even more apparent. His house, even with Red as an occupant, was always clean enough that they could eat off of any surface when he hosted movie night, even though all food would strictly remain on tableware.

High standards aside, Stretch _wants_ to give Edge something better. He _wants_ to give the other skeleton all that _he_ thinks he deserves. Edge deserves something thoughtful. Something romantic. Something, apparently, that Stretch is incapable of giving.

The point is, this isn’t how Stretch planned for this to go down.

“What did you just say?”

Oh, stars, he did it again, didn’t he? Welp, he can’t dig himself into a deeper hole than this, can he?

Probably, but he can try being optimistic, at least.

“i, uh, i guess you can say i’ve been wanting to… you know, for a while now. so, yeah. whoops. sorry.” Refusing to look Edge in the eyes, he stands up, shoving his hands back in his pockets where they can’t get him into any more trouble. “i should get going. blue is probably wondering where i am.”

Edge shoots forward, grabbing him by the arm before he can shortcut out. “ _Wait!_ ”

“look, let’s just forget what i said —” Stretch cuts off abruptly as a strong pair of arms embrace him. His mind stutters. What is going on?

“Please,” Edge whispers close to his skull before releasing him, “don’t go.”

He gulps, unable to move even if he wanted to. “okay.”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“uhhhh…” _Think!_ “nothing?”

Edge smiles, an actual _real_ smile, not just a smirk or a slight twitch. “Excellent. I can be ready by seven. I can’t wait to see you then.”

“for another hands lesson?”

The smile grows. “No. For a date. But if you’re lucky,” he adds with a wink, “we might get a bit _handsy_.”

“sounds like a plan,” Stretch squeaks, still trying to process the situation. _Edge wants to go out with him! And he made a pun!_ “see you tomorrow, i guess.”

“Until then,” Edge agrees.

Being stuck in a universe different than his own may be a pain. Having to learn a different form of Hands may be an inconvenience. Only having one person with whom he can feel comfortable learning this world’s version of Hands may be a struggle. But, if it gives him the chance to go out with Edge, if only for one night, it will all have been worth it.

So worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those ideas my brain refused to give up, loosely based on the time that my dad accidentally proposed to my mom in sign language when she was teaching him some ASL for something. I'm still confused as to how exactly he managed that, but they've been happily married for over 20 years, so whatever, I guess.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretch plans for his date with Edge.

Stretch knew this was all too good to be true.

Yeah, Edge agreed to go out on a date with him. Somehow, he even agreed, despite how much of a disaster Stretch is. He even sounded like he was _eager_ for it and not like he was agreeing out of pity, wonder of wonders.

There is a problem, however. One that, with each passing second, becomes larger and larger: _he didn’t think he would ever get this far!_

What is he supposed to do? Edge is expecting this incredible date in less than twenty-four hours, but Stretch has zilch! Zip! Nada! Insert another synonym for nothing here! He doesn’t even know where to start.

He could always do the classic restaurant date. That would be a safe bet. Unless, of course, Edge decides to eat an early supper with his brother. Red can’t cook unless he feels like killing someone because the sheer awfulness of his food; there are several reasons why the guy is always at Grillby’s, and it’s not just for the warm atmosphere. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if Edge decided to ensure that he had something healthy to eat before leaving him alone for the night.

So, a restaurant date is out. What else does that leave? Movies? Yeah, maybe if there is anything decent at the theatres. Quickly, Stretch digs out his phone to look it up. It isn’t the most creative idea, but surely there are worse things than getting to sit beside Edge for two hours in the dark, where they could maybe hold hands… Or not. Why is there nothing interesting at the theatres right now? That sucks!

Hours pass by with him sprawled out on the couch, aptly demonstrating the root of his nickname. Somewhat tiredly, Stretch stares up at the ceiling in hopes of inspiration which never comes. Idea after idea is discarded. None of them are good enough. Anything close to being worthy of Edge’s time doesn’t work out, just because of how last minute this date is.

This is ridiculous! It shouldn’t be this hard to come up with something. Helplessly, Stretch calls out for his brother. He has planned events for all of Snowdin back home; he should have no problem thinking up an idea or two.

“Yes, Papy,” Blue says, poking his head out from the kitchen, “what is it?”

“let’s just say, hypothetically, that a person was to ask another person out on a date. you know, hypothetically.”

“Oh! Did you finally manage to ask Edge out?” Blue asks this with the same casual tone that he would ask about the weather or about ideas for what to make for supper, which is part of what prompts Stretch to scramble to a seated position.

“ _bro!_ ” Papyrus hisses, face heating in embarrassment. “is it that obvious?”

Blue pats his hand softly, and he can’t decide whether that feels comforting or condescending. Possibly both. “Only to me, brother. Oh, and Red. If I were you, I would anticipate a visit from him sometime soon.”

“noooooooooooooo,” he moans in dismay, before flopping down to hide in the couch cushions. That is a visit he really doesn’t want to happen. Voice muffled, he decides, “i live here now.”

“Nonsense, Papy.” Stretch finds himself being pulled back up until he is making direct eye contact with his brother. “Now, you are fortunate enough to have the help of the Magnificent Sans in this endeavor! Or, er, the Magnificent Blue!” He shakes his head, sighing. “It simply doesn’t have the same ring to it. Regardless, the point is that with my expertise, you will be ready to take Edge out on a date that will figuratively knock him out of those high heeled boots is his!”

* * *

Things start decently enough, in Stretch’s opinion.

Dressed in a bright orange flannel — the best possible compromise between the stuffy dress shirts Blue wanted him to don and the comfortable sweatshirts he was naturally inclined to wear — and some dark jeans, Stretch stands on Edge’s doorstep with a small bouquet in hand. Okay, fine: bouquet is being overly generous. All he had done was nab some of those small, white and yellow flowers from Blue’s garden that always smell so nice right before shortcutting over. There may still be some dirt dangling from the roots, but it was a last minute decision, damn it, and it is the effort that counts, right? Flowers are a thing to give on dates, after all.

Stretch’s finger hovers hesitantly over the doorbell.

Can he actually do this? Sure, the hardest parts should be over: he managed to ask Edge out, even if by pure accident, and he planned a date, even if he had needed his brother’s help. Compared to that, pushing a small button should be a cinch. However, the longer he stares at it, the harder it seems. Once he does this, there is no going back.

Closing his eyes, he forces himself to lean forward, allowing gravity to bring him closer to ringing the bell.

“oof!”

Edge, who had really chosen an inopportune time to open the door in Stretch's opinion, catches him easily in his arms. At least he caught him — it would have been much worse if the ‘fell skeleton had simply left him to nosedive to the floor. Besides, if it were any other less embarrassing context, being held by Edge would probably be the highlight of his day.

“Are you sniffing my shirt?”

Whoops. Abort! That is a level of weird that verges into creepy territory. “i was, uh, just admiring your bone cologne,” he mumbles, torn between continuing to hide his face in Edge’s nice shirt and stepping back to add a more respectable distance between them. 

Making his first good decision since showing up at Edge’s doorstep, Stretch stumbles backwards. It allows him to appreciate Edge in all of his tall, attractive glory, anyways. The bunch of flowers, still in his grasp, is now slightly crushed.

Edge gazes down at them. “Oh.”

“i got you these,” he explains, thrusting the flowers closer to him as he looks away to the side. “you don’t have to take them, if you don’t want to. i just thought —”

“They’re lovely. Just let me put them into some water.” Accepting the sad, mangled remains of Stretch’s offering, Edge marches towards the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Please come in.”

“can do.”

A simple glass vase makes its way onto the kitchen table. With far more care than Stretch would have ever considered to put into it, Edge trims each and every stem before arranging them together. “I must say, honeysuckle is an interesting choice, although appropriate, I would hope.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Flower language, of course.”

Yes, of _course_. Because that is definitely a thing Stretch knew existed. At least Edge sounds not displeased by his choice; with how things are going so far, he wouldn’t put it past himself to have accidentally said ‘fuck you’, but not in the fun way that sometimes happens on a good date. “you speak flower language?”

“A bit,” Edge confesses somewhat wryly. He gives one especially stubborn blossom a slight nudge into place before stepping back to observe his handiwork. “It was a particularly useful skill to have back home when dealing with the king. He was known for leaving passive aggressive warnings for those in his court with plants from his own personal garden.”

“oh.” 

”As long as he didn’t add any poisoned powder to the bouquet, everything was fine. Usually.” The vase gets centered on the table. Clearly, everything is now submitting to his wishes. “These are from your brother’s garden, I presume.”

Stretch rocks slightly on his heels. “yeah. you ready to go?”

Edge nods. “As long as you are.” 

As he waits for Edge to lock the many, _many_ locks to his house — most likely a habit from his home 'verse — curiosity starts to get the better of him. Stretch has to know what he accidentally told Edge this time. 

Really, accidental communication is a habit Stretch can't afford to keep going.

"so, uh, my flower language is a bit rusty, you know? feel like giving me a quick reminder about what these little guys mean?”

“Certainly. Honeysuckles are traditionally given to an acquaintance who happens to originate from an alternate universe once you ask them on a date.”

“really? well, that is…” Stretch trails off, realisation that such a thing is pretty unlikely hitting him in the face like a bag of bricks. He takes in Edge’s excessively straight faced expression, the almost imperceptible shaking of his shoulders. “you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps,” he responds lightly. The final lock is bolted with an easy flick of Edge’s wrist. “There we are.” A pause. “Where’s your car?”

Stretch runs his hand over his skull sheepishly. “yeaaaaaaah... about that. i don’t have one. i _would’ve_ borrowed blue’s, but let’s just say that it would be a bit of a clown car situation, trying to fit the both of us in there.” Stretch shudders slightly; it is hard enough squeezing him in when it is just him and his brother. He might as well buy one of those little red and yellow kiddie cars that you drive with your feet to take Edge out on the town. That's the real height of sophistication, right there. “i was hoping we could use yours. if you don't mind.” 

“Only if I’m driving.”

“deal.” By this point in his life, he knows better than to mess with Edge and his car. Hell, even _Red_ doesn’t mess with that can of worms, and that’s saying something. 

Edge leads him to his car, and okay, there is another reason why he didn’t bother asking Blue for his. Anybody, regardless of how highly they regard automobiles, should be able to tell at a glance that this one here is a beauty. Sleek, glossy red paint, only a few shades lighter than Edge’s magic, gleams under the lights in the garage. A nearby shelf holding a large assortment tools and industrial sized containers various polishes and waxes stands as a testament to the meticulous care put into maintaining the vehicle. Edge unlocks the car, allowing Stretch to settle comfortably into the plush seats. Ah, yes, this is a real treat and a half. _Much_ better than riding in Blue’s overglorified golf cart. Not that he is ever going to admit that out loud to his brother, thanks.

Edge follows suit, judiciously fiddling with mirrors before doing up his seatbelt. “Do I get to know where we are going, or am I driving around blindly tonight?”

“oh, right. um, just give me a second.” He pulls out his phone, scrolling through — and closing — several apps before finding the GPS. “here, this should be it.” On cue, the robotic voice instructs Edge to take a right onto the next road.

Edge, however, doesn’t.

Instead, his eye lights are focused directly on Stretch, staring with an unplaceable look on his face. The car, thankfully, remains stationary; it would be more than a little concerning if the edgelord was driving with his attention away from the road.

“what?” Stretch asks, starting to become more concerned with the whole thing the longer the staring persists. Fuck, did he get some dirt on his face after handling the flowers?

Edge coughs, clearing his nonexistent throat, before redirecting his gaze. “Nothing.” Yeah, because _that_ doesn’t sound fishy. Stretch decides to ignore the evasion. “Seatbelt?”

“checkerooni,” he says, giving it a tug for good measure. “we’re good to get this show on the road.”

Other than the brief interruptions of the GPS, the car ride is spent in silence.

Well, until that lingering curiosity gets the better of Stretch once more.

“edge?”

“Yes?”

“for realsies this time, do you think you could tell me what honeysuckles mean?”

Edge nods, coming to a smooth stop as the light changes to red. “Of course. Honeysuckles mean devoted affection.”

Affection. Okay. Stretch can work with that. Even if the date doesn’t work out, affection is a perfectly normal thing to feel. And if it does work out… well, that would just make affection even more important, right?

Edge, however, hasn’t finished talking yet. A small smile makes its way onto his face, softening some of those sharp (heh) edges. “From what I remember, part of the symbolisation comes from the way the vine clings.” Briefly, he looks at Stretch, the smile shifting to an almost mischievous smirk. “Almost like a lover’s embrace.”

“oh.” That is as much as he is able to eke out, now that he has _that_ vivid picture painted in his mind, clear as day. Edge and him, limbs entwined, bone touching bone… needless to say, Stretch’s thought processes aren’t doing so well. Not at all.

In fact, he still isn’t sure that the good old thinking factory has recovered by the time Edge makes that final turn into the parking lot, the robotic voice still droning on that their destination is on the right. It isn't until they are parked that he notices Edge staring at the sign for the place, eye sockets wide.

"You— did you— is our date at an escape room?” 

His voice is so quiet. This could either be a good thing or a bad thing. Sure, Blue thought an escape room was a good idea; he applauded Stretch for thinking of an activity the two of them could do together while pertaining to Edge’s interests. Still, there could be something missing, something Stretch doesn’t know that could mean that this was a huge mistake.

Just in case, he decides to explain himself. “yeah, i thought it could be fun. i mean, you like puzzles and all, so—”

Stretch promptly shuts up when Edge leans over, as far as he can in his seatbelt, to hold his hands close to his chest. Close to his soul. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and Stretch knows he made the right decision.

“any time.” And Stretch means it. If showing up to an escape room every once in a while can bring this much happiness to Edge, it would be worth it.

The moment doesn’t last long. Edge frees Stretch’s hands to unbuckle his seatbelt and climbs out. He doesn’t bounce eagerly waiting for Stretch to hurry up and do the same. Frankly, that would be a bit concerning, even if he is excited to go. However, the slight glittering of his eye lights conveys the same sentiment, even as he stands stoic as ever at the driver’s side of the vehicle.

Stretch doesn't make him wait a second longer.

* * *

It isn’t until Edge is close enough to open his garage door on the way back that Stretch blurts it out. “i’m sorry.”

He doesn’t respond at first, waiting until he fully parks the car to turn and ask, “Why?”

Stretch chokes back a hysterical laugh. _Why?_ Example after example of reasons pops out to him.

The minute they got to the front desk of the escape room, they were informed that, due to a computer error, their time slot had been double booked. The human behind the desk monotonously informed them that they could join the other group or get out.

Stretch was the one who made the decision to stay, instead of rescheduling for a later date and going someplace else for the night.

Unfortunately for them, the other group was comprised of three racist humans. From the second they laid eyes on Stretch and Edge, they made their disdain clear. 

Stretch was the one who didn’t take that as a hint to back out and leave.

If it wasn’t bad enough that Edge had to put up with their general rudeness, the humans refused to let either monster participate in the puzzles. Stretch, he could handle just standing against the one empty spot against the wall, watching everything go down. In fact, that had originally been part of his plan for the night. But that wasn’t why he brought Edge there. If he was allowed to do anything, he could have easily gotten them out faster while enjoying himself. Instead, he stood to the side, gloved fists clenched harder and harder as the humans made unkind remarks and careless mistakes even Stretch could recognise.

The same gloved hands now take his own, for the second time tonight.

“Stretch. Why are you sorry?”

He takes a deep breath. “i just wanted this to be perfect, but i fucked up. those humans were jerks, and those puzzles didn’t even seem that good and —” Stretch’s voice hitches, and great, those are tears running down his face, “— and now i’m crying, and crying _definitely_ doesn’t scream sexy and i probably look like a toddler whose parents said he couldn’t have a nice cream and — oh!”

The warm clack of bone against bone is enough to startle him into silence. Flabbergasted, he stares at his hand, still close enough to Edge’s mouth that he can feel the soft gusts of his breathing, a steady rhythm.

_Edge kissed him._

True, it was only a small peck just above his knuckles. That is pretty much as chaste as it gets. But the point stands: _Edge kissed him!_

“Hush. This was probably the best date I’ve ever been on.”

“i’m so sorry.”

Edge raises an inquisitive brow bone. “Why? I just said I enjoyed myself.”

“i’m sorry that this sad excuse of a night is the best date you’ve had. you deserve better.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.” Edge gets out of his car, then pauses. “If it makes you feel better, though, I’m hoping that you might want to try again another time. Perhaps next week?”

Stretch grins. “next week it is.”

He has to show Edge what a ‘best date’ truly is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I had the first chapter of this thing posted for what, maybe half a day, during most of which I was asleep, when my brain decided to make more. I swear, sometimes my brain is like a Billy Mays infomercial: but wait, there's more!
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretch tries to tell Edge those three small words. He really does.

Snuggled cozily around Edge, Stretch can’t help but bask in how lucky he is. Here he is, watching some cheesy action movie on tv, eating some soft, cheesy pretzels they briefly threw in the oven to reheat and cuddling under fuzzy blankets with his boyfriend. Edge’s attention is mostly on the screen, quietly dissecting the flaws in each and every fight scene, the recurring theme being that humans don’t strategize for shit. 

Stars, he loves the guy so much.

Now, if only he could figure out how to tell him.

It isn’t like it is too soon or anything; they have already been together for almost a year, for fuck’s sake! They managed to get past the disaster of their first few dates — as much as Edge tells him that those dates were better than he gave himself credit for — and have been going pretty steady ever since. Things are good between them. _Real_ good. Hell, the conversation about moving in together has already happened, so why is it so difficult to express his feelings? 

Stretch has had no problems in displaying his other feelings. Loud and (mostly) proud, thank you very much. He is the first person to laugh and sing of his joy on the odd occasion Edge decides to indulge him in word play. He even cried on their first date, as embarrassing as it was. Theoretically, he should have no problem with this.

Then again, showing his love for Edge is fairly easy. Both of them have been, uh, _forward_ in expressing their affection in other more physical ways, if you catch his drift. Yup. Plenty affectionate. All the affection. Sometimes, their affection would get a bit too loud when they spent the night together at Edge’s, and it was a toss up whether Red was going to glare daggers at them or made endless crude jokes at their expense over breakfast the next morning. On a side note, Stretch is _so_ glad Red got his own place last month. So, yeah.

But, as for the words themselves… Stretch isn’t sure if they are there yet. Well, Stretch wants to be there; Edge is probably just as content leaving things as they are.

For what it’s worth, Stretch knows he has his brother’s full support in the matter. Blue keeps telling him to tell Edge, that it is just three small words and he manages to say much more than that on any given day. Trying to convince him that it is a little more difficult than that is a losing battle that Stretch is tired of fighting. 

Of course, it doesn’t help that Blue is biased: he is the type of person to casually tell any friend that he loves them, while still meaning it with his whole soul. Stretch is pretty sure their mailman has gotten a casual ‘love you’ for bringing in a package he had eagerly been anticipating on more than one occasion.

Onscreen, another explosion marks the end of a fight. Stretch can’t wait for Edge to make a comment about how this would be the absolute worst time to use that C-4, unless the protagonist was trying to get himself killed too.

Except… Edge doesn’t say something about that. He doesn’t say anything at all.

All right. There is one other reason why the whole ‘I love you’ thing has been bugging him so much.

Stretch knows it was a bad day for Edge. He has from the moment he woke up, with Edge — still clad in his pyjamas — sleeping tightly curled against his back as the sun peeked through their curtains. That kind of thing just doesn’t happen; even on his days off, Edge is at least _awake_ with the sun, if not up and doing things. 

When he eventually came to join the land of the awake, Edge still seemed off. Stretch knows for a fact that there were countless outdoor chores he wanted to get done while the weather was still nice, but none of them happened. In a rare turn of events, Edge was the one to initiate a quiet day of doing absolutely nothing together, not Stretch. Not that he would ever complain about that, fuck no. But, when paired with everything else? Stretch can’t help but feel at least a little concerned for Edge.

As for why he is having a bad day, Stretch doesn’t know quite yet. Edge hasn’t said, and he doesn’t want to force the issue.

If he was to hazard a guess, though, he would have to say that it was probably something related to Edge’s LV. More precisely, somebody making a cruel comment or treating him like a feral beast because of it. Edge pretends those kinds of things don’t bother him, simply standing there and doing nothing because he knows that the mere act of defending himself will just prove those people’s points, in their minds. Too many times, Stretch has seen it. The way his eye lights dim, the ever so slight slouch of his shoulders, bringing his posture from beyond perfection to only almost perfect. How he goes quiet for the next little bit. It hurts him. 

It hurts both of them.

Stretch still can’t imagine how hard it must be for Edge. Back in Underfell, LV was something to be proud of, especially when one could manage it as well as he did. It was strength, a sign that you aren’t to be fucked with, that you can protect what is yours, whatever the cost. His LV had earned him respect and a healthy amount of fear. But here, all LV earns is suspicion and distrust, at best. 

Earlier today, Stretch had considered asking Red if he knew anything, but he ended up deciding against it. If someone had said or done something to hurt Edge and Red found out (which he will)... well, they would never get the chance to do it again. As much as Stretch doesn’t want anyone to hurt Edge, he just can’t condone Red’s means, even if he truly understands the sentiment: if there is one thing that is true in all of the universes, it is that the skeleton brothers love each other and will do anything to make sure that their brother is okay.

Before he knows it, the credits start rolling, a signal that Edge will be wanting to get up right away to put the dishes in the sink to soak overnight. Reluctantly, Stretch lets go of him so he can do so.

Instead, Edge turns to embrace him once more. “Do you mind if we go to bed now?”

“sure,” Stretch says slowly, trying his hardest now to give a worried look at the clock. Even _he_ isn’t anywhere near tired yet. “you know i’m always down to catch some z’s.”

The hug tightens ever so slightly. “Thank you.”

“any time,” Stretch reassures him.

If only he could add on another reassurance, that small verbal reminder of how exactly how much he cares for him. Yeah, actions speak louder than words and all that jazz, but actions can be misinterpreted. It’s like texting, sometimes: the meaning is technically there, but there is no guarantee as to how the recipient will understand the underlying intent.

Stretch doesn’t want there to be any miscommunication in their relationship. Ever.

He follows Edge upstairs, briefly lagging behind to turn off the tv and lights and to shortcut the dishes to the kitchen. In silence, they get changed. He tries to tell Edge now, but it still doesn’t feel quite right. Not as a simple passing remark that could so easily be overlooked in their tiredness. Not for the first time that he says it, at least. 

It doesn’t take long for them to curl up in bed together, Stretch resting lightly against Edge’s ribcage. Easy for Edge to hold as much as he wants. The warm, soothing weight of the sheets combined with the secure feeling of being surrounded by Edge’s arms makes him want to drop off to sleep. 

But first, he needs to say it. He can’t wait any longer.

“hey, edge?” He waits for an acknowledging hum to go for it. “i... i—” The words stay stuck. “i was thinking,” he finishes simply. Maybe if he works up to it, it will be easier.

“Imagine that.” Okay, maybe things aren’t _too_ bad if he can still give Stretch some snark, which he immediately softens by adding, “What about?”

“uhhhh…” 

Absently, he traces his fingers over the edge of the covers. Smooth with a luxurious thread count, the grey bed set is something Stretch knows was chosen with judicious care. As a neutral colour, it can complement any decor perfectly. Unlike white, it doesn’t show dirt or stains easily (not that Edge would allow for any to stay on the bed long enough to be seen) and it doesn’t lend to an impersonal feel, like living in a hotel room or hospital. It also isn’t nearly as intense as black, which adds to the homey effect. Not that Stretch cares about any of that; as long as it keeps him warm at night, he wouldn’t give a damn even if he had to sleep with the world’s ugliest patchwork quilt.

“Stretch?”

“i was just thinking about what kind of fruit you are.” There. He has a segue he can follow off into the sunset now. From here, he can move on to candies, or maybe some other treats that he enjoys, like those honey taffies Edge got him last Gyftmas. He loves his sweets, even if isn’t nearly as much as he loves him.

Edge groans. “If you answer _fine_ -apple again, I’m going to smack you with this pillow.” Stretch doesn’t doubt him in the least.

“fine,” he grins unrepentantly, because stars, does Edge ever know him well, “but i still think it’s valid. besides the fact that you’re hella fine, you’re spiky on the outside and nice and sweet on the inside.” 

“You’re a sappy fool,” he dryly proclaims, but Stretch can hear the smile in his voice.

“mmhmmm.” _As long as I’m your sappy fool_.

Just before he can proceed with step two of his plan to declare his love for the edgelord, Stretch finds himself being carefully flipped onto his back, Edge staring deep into his eyes from on top of him. And, okay, this wasn’t originally part of his idea, but he isn’t going to complain. Besides, his mouth is quickly being put to good use, preventing him from voicing any non-existent protests.

Face flushed and panting, Stretch is sure he looks a bit of a mess by the time Edge pulls back, much to his disappointment. Expression serious, Edge remains close to say, “I’ve decided what kind of fruit you were before you asked me out.”

It takes a few seconds for him to process the question. In his defense, Edge is an excellent kisser. After a nice session of making out like that, coherent thoughts are a bit beyond his ability. “really?” Stretch finally manages. This should be good. “what kind of fruit was i?”

“A _pining_ -apple.”

“damn it,” Stretch gasps between loud snorts of laughter, “why don’t you ever give me a warning? something like that needs to be recorded for posterity! your brother would’ve loved to hear you say that!”

“That is exactly why I didn’t warn you,” Edge says, leaning down for another kiss. And another. And another.

Soul feeling as light as a helium balloon, he nuzzles in close as Edge rolls to lie down beside him. “man, i lo—” He freezes, the word already halfway out of his mouth when he realises that no, this isn’t the time to pause, this is the time to say it!

“You what?” Edge prompts.

“i, uh… i…” _Come on, just say it already!_

Edge hums quietly to himself, the same sound he makes when analysing a particularly tricky puzzle. “Stretch, give me your hand.”

Despite his total confusion, he does. He sighs softly as Edge runs his fingers over every bone, giving each joint a massage before moving to the next. His hands are always so nice and toasty warm compared to Stretch’s own, no matter how much time he spends with them shoved into the pockets of his hoodies. Edge always tells him that it would help if he would wear some gloves every once in a while, but that would mean losing an easy excuse to hold hands at any given time.

“Here.” Holding Stretch’s wrist with hand, Edge uses his other to coax his fingers straight out. He then folds Stretch’s middle and ring fingers into his palm.

Oh!

Stretch knows this sign. Smiling widely, he turns so that he can also say it himself with his other hand.

_'I love you.'_

Edge mirrors him, signing it back. 

_'I love you too.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the end.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


End file.
